


Still Our Roots Remain

by CardiganDiary



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Department store windows, F/M, Family, Ice Skating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-11 16:04:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5632639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CardiganDiary/pseuds/CardiganDiary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Nyota's plans to spend Christmas at home with her family are upended at the last minute, her favorite instructor, the one she had a crush on all semester, requests her help conducting a cultural survey of Terran holiday traditions.  Too bad he didn't mention the ice skating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Ice was slippery. Which shouldn’t have been the surprise it was because along with being hard and cold and having a hexagonal crystalline structure, being slippery was one of ice’s defining characteristics. But standing on the flat, slick, artificial sheet of the frozen stuff in the middle of Union Square wearing a pair of too-tight white leather skates, her ankles wobbling every time she tried to make any progress around the perimeter of the outdoor rink, Nyota Uhura was gaining a new appreciation for exactly how perilous ice could be.

She’d never been ice skating before. Never wanted to. Was opposed to the idea the second her date suggested it. But there she was anyway, only about 15 feet away from the opening in the waist-high wall that skirted the outside of the rink, surrounded by a slab of frozen water that glittered dangerously under the bright artificial lights that illuminated the skating area and about 200 other beings making their way around the ice in endless circles. All ages. Mostly human. But there were a number of Andorians, too. And Caitians, and Risians. Even a couple of Tellarites. All of them improbably more adept and graceful on the ice than she was.

And then there was the single Vulcan.

Although at the moment, he didn’t look very Vulcan. With his glossy cap of black hair and distinctive, sharply-pointed ears were hidden under a close-knit, dark gray toque, along with the angled ends of his eyebrows, so he could have been human out there on the ice. His warm, dark eyes didn’t give anything away, and his mouth, which had to be far more expressive than strict logic dictated, was curved into the barest hint of a smile. Add to that his not being in uniform, replaced for the evening with what might be the ugliest sweater she’d ever seen. For all she knew, the heavy, boxy thing was the height of fashion on his home planet.

“Nyota, your efforts will yield greater results if you let go of the railing.”

One at a time, she pried her hands off of the metal handrail that rimmed the top of the rink wall and wiped them carefully against her thighs before turning towards the speaker, the architect of the misbegotten adventure she found herself entrenched in, intending to explain to him, the way she hadn’t earlier, that she hadn’t wanted to go skating.

That had been all his idea.

She would have been perfectly happy spending Christmas Eve sitting on the sidelines. Maybe drinking hot chocolate. Maybe watching him get just a little tipsy drinking hot chocolate. That was what she’d hoped they were going to do when they’d ended up at Union Square. But no. For some reason, Spock had been determined to get her out on the ice. Who even knew Vulcans could skate?

When he’d told her he’d already purchased tickets for one of the evening skating sessions, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to say no, even though common sense had screamed at her to, and she’d found herself slipping out of her boots, tightening the laces on the rented skates, and stepping out onto the ice. She’d resolved to make the best of it and make it around the rink at least once, and she’d been doing fine. Better than fine, holding onto the railing so that she didn’t feel like her feet were going to shoot out from under her without warning.

And she’d planned to tell him all that, but when she turned, the funny looking barb on the tip of one of her silver skate blades caught on the ice at the exact same time her shift in weight caused her other foot to slide forward. The only reason she didn’t end up flat on her ass was the death grip she’d somehow managed to keep on the aforementioned railing when her foot had skidded out from under her.

“Do you require assistance?” Spock watched her with the same mild expression he’d had since they’d met at the transport center at Starfleet Headquarters and taken a bus into downtown San Francisco. Well, not quite the same. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards in the barest approximation of a smile, and there was that gleam in his eyes that he only got when he was teasing her.

Nyota was seriously rethinking the whole dating-but-not-really thing they’d fallen into after the seminar in advanced computational models for phonological analysis he’d led had ended just before Thanksgiving. That was something else she’d never thought she’d do. Date one of her teachers. Or former teacher. After all, the course had ended weeks before, and nothing had happened before that. Or at least nothing inappropriate between a commissioned officer and a cadet technically under his command.

It wasn’t too late. Things weren’t that far gone, she didn’t think. They’d only gone out twice before. And only sort of. Once for coffee two weeks earlier when she’d stopped by his office he shared with three other graduate instructors to collect her final paper and a second time only a week later during finals when he’d found her trying to cobble together something for vaguely nutritious for dinner from the limited-program replicator tucked into the corner of the long-range sensor lab because she’d missed mess call. He’d taken her to the deserted faculty lounge two floors up, where the replicators w she ere fully programmed. She’d inhaled a bowl of maharagwe and coconut rice while he’d sipped tea. They’d talked for hours, the way they usually weren’t able during his regular office hours, partly because at least one of his office mates was always there and partly because she was only one of a seemingly endless string of cadets vying for his attention. She never did get back to the lab that night.

They’d talked about doing something more…planned, less spur-of-the-moment once the new semester started and the risk of possible accusations of unfair bias in grading was lessened, but then she’d gotten that excited call from her little sister, Makena. She’d told her in that screeching, half-hysterical, nearly-incomprehensible way that all 13-year-olds seemed to instinctively master that she’d been invited to participate in a week-long training camp for young athletes put on by the Federation Judo Union on Risa and how they were going to see their grandparents, since her mother’s parents had retired to the tourist spot a few years earlier.

Once Makena gushed her way to exhaustion, her mother had broken the news that the week-long camp coincided with the Academy’s winter break. It was a huge opportunity for her little sister, who’d been studying the martial art since almost before she could stand up on her own. Given the popularity of Risa as a holiday destination and the short time frame, it was no small miracle the family had been able to book a flight at all. They’d only been able to find something was because they’d been willing to pull both Makena and Kamau, Nyota’s 10-year-old brother, out of school a week early.

Nyota hadn’t been so lucky. In the week before the end of finals period, she’d tried everything she could think of to find a way to Risa, but the Starfleet transport office hadn’t been able to arrange anything for her. Commercial flights were full. She hadn’t even been able to get on a standby list. She couldn’t afford to charter something, and she might have even seriously considered her roommate, Gaila’s, suggestion of hitching a ride on an Orion trader, except she wasn’t crazy. When she’d run into Spock outside the transport center, she’d run out of options.

She hadn’t planned to tell him anything. He’d had a travel bag looped over his shoulder, large enough to hold clothes and personal effects for a couple of days, and was on his way up to the orbital shipyard to inspect the mock-ups of the astrophysics and biochemistry labs on the fleet’s new flagship, Enterprise. He’d recently accepted the position of Science Officer, something he’d told her at their impromptu dunner just a few nights earlier, and he was working on bringing himself up to speed on the ship’s construction. Delay would have been unwelcome, she could tell.

Except that she’d been upset. Skirting the edge of hysteria, really. Her failed attempts to make travel plans had seriously eaten into her study time, and she’d still had her Elementary Temporal Mechanics final the next morning and a paper due in her Natural Language Processing Resource Creation that she should have already finished two days after that. He’d been the last person she’d wanted to see her like that, and she’d been so relieved and happy to see him after spending the entire day and part of the one before running into obstacle after obstacle just trying to find a way to spend Christmas with her family, she’d nearly thrown her arms around his waist and pressed her face into his chest so she could breathe in that earthy, smoky, almost astringent scent of incense that always seemed to cling to him before she thought better of it. So, in the interest of time, she’d told him everything, from how amazing it was that her little sister was so good at something she’d been offered a spot to train with the best athletes in the quadrant even if it meant not seeing her family for Christmas for the third year in a row, to her roommate not even going to be there because she was spending winter break in Rio De Janeiro with the other members of the intergalactic student union.

He’d listened in that careful, focused way that could make a person feel like either the most important person in the world or the least, depending on how they interpreted the nearly non-existent changes in his facial expression. And then he’d been quiet for a long minute before nodding curtly and telling her he would also be on campus over break and that he’d contact her when he returned to Earth. The prospect of spending time with him outside of the confines of Academy had been enough to distract her from her disappointment over missing seeing her family, at least until he’d brought her to Union Square.

Which was how she’d ended up making her ill-fated attempt at ice skating.

“I’m fine.” The words were short and terse, forced out through gritted teeth, all of her concentration on getting her feet back under her so she could resume her slow, stilted journey around the rink’s perimeter. “And if you’re going to tell me how ‘fine’ is too vague a term to convey useful information about my current physical and emotional state? Don’t.”

“The truth of that statement is not dependent upon your willingness to hear it,” Spock replied softly, his voice disinterested even as he trailed behind her.

“Do you mind? I’m trying to focus.”

“You are displeased. Perhaps this activity was a poor choice on my part. If you wish to stop—”  
  
“No,” she snapped, almost too quickly. When he’d first suggested actually skating, her first instinct had been to say no, but there’d been something in his eyes, something unquantifiable, and she’d found herself agreeing, almost without thinking, even as her heart started to thud against her ribs and her stomach sank. And she was determined because he’d obviously planned this, wanted to do this with her, and as much as she wasn’t exactly enjoying herself, she refused to just give up. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and pushed off again. “I knew what I was getting into. I could have said no, and I didn’t, so I’m going to make it around this stupid block of ice at least once.”

“Tenacity is one your many admirable qualities, but it is unnecessary —”

“Do you mind? I’m trying to concentrate on not tripping over myself.”

Spock fell quiet, although he continued to follow her, and Nyota reapplied herself to staying upright while still making forward progress. The scrape of her skate blades on the ice was halting and uneven, the metal catching and stuttering against the frozen surface every few steps. Nothing like the smooth whisper of Spock’s. One long, gliding swish for every four of her uncertain shuffles.

When he didn’t speak again, she glanced back. His back was straight and his hands were clasped behind him, as comfortable as if he were standing in the front of a lecture room. The only sign of his concern was the way he watched her, his brows drawn together, a faint crease between them marring his usually implacable expression. She almost reassured him that she really was fine, but then the claw at the front of her skate blade snagged in a hole in the ice and she had to refocus in front of her when she stumbled.

She didn’t see Spock move towards her, but his hand was suddenly there, grasping her elbow, steadying her just enough to keep her from pitching forward. That slight support calmed the churning fear in her stomach, although it did nothing to slow the furious beat of her heart or ease the tightness in her chest that was making it hard to breathe.

“Thank you,” she said when she found her voice, the barest whisper. She closed her eyes and tightened her grip on the railing. Tried to take long, deep breaths.

Spock didn’t let her go until she was steady on her feet. Didn’t let go even after that. Not right away. “If you would prefer—”

“It’s okay. I’m okay. I can do this.”

“I have no doubt.” His words were nearly obscured by the soft slide of metal against ice, and when she opened her eyes, he’d glided around to face her. His hands were outstretched, palms upwards, beckoning. “But when one is uncertain how to proceed to accomplish one’s goals, is it not reasonable to accept help when it is offered?”

Nyota’s gaze flitted down to his hands and up again to his face, searching for some clue as to what he was thinking. The heaviness in her stomach started to ease and turned into the smallest flutter. In all the time they’d spent together over the past few months, in class, in the phonetics lab, the few minutes stolen in his office, and when the near constant interruptions had driven them out, a secluded corner of the library, surrounded by dust and old books that no one used anymore, they’d never touched. Not even after the seminar was over, long after it became clear her massive school-girl’s crush wasn’t just one-sided.

She’d known the second he’d walked into class — from the unsteady flutter in her belly, from how she hadn’t been able to stop staring at his long, slender fingers as they danced over the his PADD calling up the first set of discussion notes on the transparent display screen that dominated one side of the room, from the way it was suddenly too hot for her to breathe — that she shouldn’t be there. That she should have packed up her bag and left right then. Dropped the class after the first meeting. Never signed up for it in the first place. But then he’d spoken, and the next seventy-five minutes had vanished as she’d soaked in the measured, even tones of his voice.

So, she’d stayed. Not just because she had the most embarrassing crush on her Vulcan seminar leader. If that had been the only thing to keep her there, she would have dropped the course. She didn’t need that kind of distraction, but her adviser had been right. Both the subject matter and the instructor had challenged her in a way that most of her lower division xenolinguistics classes hadn’t come close to approaching.

Still, she’d tried to keep as much distance between them as possible, purely out of a sense of self-preservation if nothing else. He was her instructor and he was Vulcan. And then there was the rumor that Christopher Pike had short-listed the Lt. Commander for a senior assignment on the Enterprise, the fleet’s new flagship, when it launched in 18 months. She hadn’t wanted to complicate her class or her life or her chances to be assigned to that ship. But in a course with only nine other students where a third of the grade was based on classroom discussion, it had been impossible. Not to mention she hadn’t really been able to keep quiet when a first form cadet, who really had no business being in that course in the first place despite being on track to graduate in the summer, kept arguing for unrestricted generalizations for system searches in automated learning. And then there was the ever-growing collection of cadets lined up for his office hours. So many she’d never been able to see him during his posted availability for questions about their readings, her marks on practical assignments, or issues that had cropped up in her research so that at least once a week, she’d ended up shadowing him after class, usually eating into whatever time he might have set aside for his own work, until he’d started setting aside regular time to meet with her.

His being a graduate student technically made them peers, but not only had he been her instructor for most of the semester, he was a commissioned officer. Even if she’d been the kind of person who went around just touching people, someone more like Gaila, her Orion roommate, who’d rarely met a being she wasn’t interesting in knowing better, those two things by themselves would have been enough to chill any impulses she might have had in that direction.

And he was Vulcan, too. Or half-Vulcan which she hadn’t known at the start of the semester. Which meant certain things, like touching, were to be avoided. For a species with such a long and intertwined history with humanity, more than a century before first contact was officially made in 2063 if the stories were to be believed, there were still such a startlingly large number of unknowns when it came to the daily workings of Vulcan society. And the things that were considered common knowledge among her friends back home in Nairobi, the cool demeanor, the calculating nature, the stoic and taciturn disposition, the telepathy, had been cobbled together from a collection of subjective historical accounts, news vids, sensationalist space operas and novels. Third-hand accounts of a friend whose father’s best friend’s sister’s wife worked with a Vulcan.

But hearsay and speculation aside, everything Nyota had learned Spock’s species since she’d been at the Academy had confirmed that touching, even unintentionally, was unwelcome. After the initial surprise of finding the instructor of her phonology seminar was not only Vulcan but also seemed to be close to her own age and temporarily made her mind go blank and her heart beat a little harder whenever she first heard his soft, steady voice, a little faster whenever their eyes met and held, she’d been especially careful not to touch him. Scrupulous in avoiding even the accidental bumps and grazes that were almost inevitable when working closely with someone.

And now he was inviting her to do just that.

Nyota forced her fingers to let go of the railing and slipped her hand into his. She teetered at the slight shift in weight and nearly pulled away again, but Spock tightened his hold and kept her from tipping backwards. Still, her chest constricted, forcibly pushing the air out of her lungs, leaving her breathless and a little dizzy. Knowing if she waited until she was certain she had control over her feet again that she’d just stay there, caught between the sure safety of the railing and the prospect of something less certain but far more desirable if she were only willing take the risk, she grabbed for him before she had time to reconsider.

His hands were large and nearly engulfed hers, and his skin was smooth and warm. Expected, given his heritage and his work. The unyielding strength was expected, too. But there was something else. A roughness in the skin of his fingertips that rasped against her palms and a resolute gentleness in the way he gripped her hands, like he’d gauged the exact pressure needed to hold her steady and was determined to use only that and nothing more.

But other than the warmth and strength and care, they were just hands. Nothing mystical or mysterious. Her her pulse maintained it’s frantic pace, but the nervous flutter in her belly told her it was only partly due to her still-echoing fear at abandoning the relative safety of the wall. Nyota didn’t know whether or not she’d even realize if there was something…more he was getting from her. His thumbs smoothed over the backs of her knuckles, and he gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze. She watched the way his fingers moved over hers with an unshakable fascination, so much that she nearly didn’t hear him speak.

And then the ice moved. Which was impossible. Nyota realized with a start that it wasn’t the ice moving at all. It was her, pulled along by Spock as he propelled himself backwards, her hands firmly clasped in his. Nyota jerked upright, more out of surprise and instinct than any desire to pull away from him, but his grip tightened just enough to keep her from slipping away.

“I think there’s something wrong with my skates,” she muttered, her eyes glued to her toes, just visible beneath where their hands were intertwined.

“The boots are sound and properly laced, and the blades are sufficiently sharp so as to provide optimum purchase.” His wry tone was enough to pull her gaze away from her feet to find him looking down at her with soft eyes. His mouth was drawn into a firm line, although Nyota suspected he was attempting to keep it from relaxing into something that might have been a smile. “Keeping your weight distributed over the forefoot and bending your knees will provide greater stability.”

‘”I wondered why you kept sending the skates the guy behind the counter gave me back.”

“I wished to ensure your first experience was not unpleasant. Proper equipment guards against injury and enhances performance and satisfaction.”

As he spoke, a linked line of skaters whipped past them. The entire train was pulled by a boy in his teens skating quickly backwards without any concern where he was headed. His hands were locked around the wrist of a girl about the same age, and two other girls and another boy were lined up behind her like the cars of a maglev train. Nyota wasn’t able to see what happened once they zoomed by, but there was a muffled shriek of laughter followed quickly by the sounds of metal scraping against ice and bodies colliding. Spock glanced back over his shoulder, firmed his grasp on her hands, and maneuvered them both around the tangled knot of giggling teenagers laying in an ungainly heap in the middle of their path.

The group laughed and struggled to rise as Spock guided her around them, and Nyota craned her neck to watch two of the girls clutch at one another as they teetered to their feet and then almost immediately tripped and tumbled back to the ice with the rest of their friends, squealing. She was so engrossed, she forgot to pay attention to what her own feet were doing and stumbled when she hit a stray chunk of ice that must have been kicked up by another skater. Her stomach lurched. Tried to jump up and lodge itself up next to her heart, between her lungs. Spock slowed and then stopped their momentum as she righted herself again and her breath caught up to her.

“Perhaps you should give greater attention to those hazards still in your path than those already encountered.” His tone was sober, but his eyes crinkled at the corners and his lips finally relaxed into their natural upward curve.

“Very funny.” Her gaze darted up to his face and then drifted again down to their joined hands. His skin seemed so pale next to hers. Even paler in the thin December twilight than the too bright lights of the classroom or the phonetics lab. “I thought skating backwards was against the rules.”

“It is.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

Her question seemed to baffle him for a moment. His brow creased into what might have been a frown if it had been reflected in the rest of his features. “You were finding the experience unpleasant.”

“That’s it? You were worried I wasn’t enjoying myself?”

Strangely, he didn’t deny it, instead telling her, “As I proposed this activity. It is my responsibility to take steps to ensure it is agreeable. I calculated the risk of disobedience to that particular rule to be minimal in terms of injury and inconvenience to others.”

Nyota smiled. “I thought worry was illogical.”

“You are correct. Worry about what one cannot influence is illogical. And worry where action can be taken is also illogical.”

“Well, thank you anyway. And I’m a lot steadier now than when we started. I’m sure I can make it the rest of the way around by myself in…how much time do we have left?”

“Fifty-seven minutes.”  
  
“Plenty of time. I won’t even hold on to the railing.”

Spock studied her intently. Nyota wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but she straightened her spine and tried to look more confident than she felt. The close collision and her near fall soon after had shaken her, no matter that the kids involved not only weren’t hurt but seemed to think the whole thing was hilarious. Spock’s wordless scrutiny continued for what felt like forever but was probably only a few seconds, and she was about to reassure him again when his chin jerked downward, curt and perfunctory, and he let her hands slide slowly out of his. “Acceptable.”

She flexed her fingers, already missing the warmth of his hands around hers, and used the loss of that heat to distract herself from the way her pulse accelerated again now that she was alone in the middle of the ice without any external support. “Okay, here we go.” She willed her feet to move, but nothing happened. Well, nothing except that her throat was suddenly tight and dry, making it hard to swallow.

“Nyota?” He lifted one eyebrow until it disappeared under the edge of his hat and peered at her out of the side of his eye the way she’d only seen from him in class when someone said or did something he found particularly confounding. She’d only been on the receiving end of that particular look once before when, in a fit of frustration over rewriting an already complex line of code to tabulate specific syllable boundaries, she’d suggested that maybe writing everything down by hand would be simpler. At the time, only a week into the semester, she’d been mortified. She hadn’t meant to voice her frustration out loud, and the hot flush that had spread over her cheeks and down to her chest had taken all afternoon to fade.

“Working on it.” Her voice was a raspy creak, and she cleared her throat and took a deep breath. “Keep my weight over the balls of my feet. Bend my knees. What else?”

“Stand with your weight on both feet.”

“Okay.”

“Shift your weight to your right foot and angle your left foot outwards at a forty-five degree angle.”

“Really?” Nyota asked with a smirk, glancing over at him. “Forty-five degrees?”

“Approximately.” Spock’s mild tone gave no hint as to his sincerity, but that teasing glint was back in his eyes, and the corner of his mouth curled upwards.

Nyota adjusted her position as directed. “What next?”

“Use your left foot to propel yourself forward, then bring it back under you next to your right and repeat the sequence alternating your feet.”

“You’re not going to tell me exactly how much force to use?”

“I leave that to your discretion. Although, having witnessed your previous efforts, I suggest you proceed with all due caution and keep your movements small.”

Casting her eyes skyward, Nyota smiled and shook her head. Spock’s subtle, wry humor had thrown her when she’d first encountered it, and she’d told herself he couldn’t possibly be making jokes. He was Vulcan, after all. But as she’d spent more time with him, she’d come to realize there was very little about him that was dull and staid. In fact, she suspected he looked for ways he could tease her.

Nyota took another breath and held it. Ordered her heart to stop trying to burst out from behind her ribcage. Dragged her palms down the fronts o.f her thighs. They’d gone clammy in the short time she’d been standing in the middle of the ice without Spock steadying her. Slowly, she exhaled, steeled herself, and pushed off, but her ankle buckled over the narrow blade and she stumbled back onto two feet.

Her arms flailed as she struggled to keep from tumbling to the ice, and she found Spock’s outstretched hand with hers more by chance than anything, locking her fingers around his and using his seeming inexhaustible strength and patience to regain her equilibrium. “Try again,” he instructed once she was solidly on her feet again, this time, not letting go of her hand.

Nyota nodded, swallowed hard, and took a short, halting step, more walking than skating. And then another. And another. By the time she’d gone five feet, she was able to glide a little. She’d made better time when she’d been clinging to the wall, but she was moving under her own momentum, and she wasn’t falling.

Spock skated alongside her, easily keeping pace. He still kept hold of her hand, not that she blamed him given her demonstrated tendency to trip over nothing. Even though her slow progress meant he’d had to adjust his own speed to match hers, he still moved smoothly and confidently over the ice, and she beamed up at him, her smile so wide it made her cheeks burn. “How do you know how to skate, anyway?”

The question had plagued her most of the afternoon, but she’d been so preoccupied by her dread at the thought of all that ice, she hadn’t asked. Spock’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly, and if she hadn’t already spent far too much time over the past months studying him, parsing the smallest change in his warm, expressive eyes, she would have missed it. But before he could answer, the pick at the front of her skate blade caught on the ice, a sharp, grinding scrape that raised the hair along the back of her neck and sent shivers down her spine. She only wobbled a little, but she switched her focus to the ice in front of her, to the careful, stiff movements of her own feet, and she almost didn’t hear when he spoke.

“You are aware that my mother is human.”

Nyota nodded, and when she didn’t respond, her attention split between waiting for him to speak and working out how to negotiate the upcoming corner without tripping or falling, Spock continued.

“My mother’s sister and her family reside in a rural portion of Washington state. Each year in December, I would accompany her there for an extended visit. Spending the holidays.” He paused, and while Nyota didn’t dare take her eyes off of the ice in front of her, she could see him look down at her in the corner of her vision, his brows drawing together. “There is a pond that freezes in the winter.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I assure you, I am not.”

Out of everything he might have told her, she hadn’t come close to imagining that would be his answer. She gaped up at him, not caring how her mouth was hanging open and didn’t notice how her feet slowed and then stopped mid-way through the turn so that she ended up completing the change in direction using what little momentum she’d managed to build and,when that dwindled, pulled her along by Spock, his fingers still warm and strong around hers. “You learned how to skate on a frozen pond in Washington.”

“Have I been unclear?”

“No.” Nyota scrambled to catch him but nearly lost her footing when the barb at the front of her skate caught on the ice again, and Spock slowed, nearly reaching out with his other hand to steady her. “Maybe,” she said once they’d resumed their circuit. “What made you decide to try skating on it?”

“It was my uncle’s suggestion. His oldest daughter and I are the same age, and he taught us both when we were five Terran years of age. I had initially attempted to only observe, but my mother…encouraged my active participation.”

Nyota chewed on her lower lip to keep from grinning, but she couldn’t quite keep her amusement out of her voice. “Encouraged?”

“Vehemently,” said Spock, glancing at her sideways, his face so carefully composed, that if he’d been human, he would have been laughing along with her. “I found it an intriguing practical application of a number of fundamental laws of physics and mechanics.”

“Like friction.”

“Precisely. Friction, momentum, kinetic and potential energy, inertia, torque. Also what on Earth is known as Newton’s third law.”

“Wow. You learned to skate on a pond.”

“Yes.”

“A frozen pond.”

She looked up at Spock in time to see the vertical crease between his brows that had made regular appearances in class when he seemed to be frustrated disappear. “Further repetition will not alter the veracity of that statement.”

Nyota had been about to tease him again, but what he’d told her finally began to become real, and the harder she tried not to thin, the more her brain picked. Even turning her attention back to the ice, trying to lengthen her strokes and propel herself forward with more confidence wasn’t enough to keep her mind from turning over every possible scenario she could think of when it came to skating out in the middle of a frozen body of water. It finally stopped churning on one particular thought. One she couldn’t just dismiss. “You weren’t at all concerned about the ice cracking underneath you?”

Spock must have heard something in her tone because he slowed enough in his pace that she overshot him, although he was back alongside her after only two long, quick strides. “”I was not. My uncle would not allow us on the ice until he had verified it was sufficiently formed to support all our weight.”

“I still wouldn’t have done it.”

“I had already reached that conclusion.”

“That obvious?”

“Given your trepidation, your acquiescence to this activity was unexpected.”

She pressed her lips together and dropped her head, hoping it looked like she was focusing on the ice in front of her and not avoiding looking at him. Now that she’d been out on the ice with him, now that she was feeling, if not exactly comfortable, at least not so panicky she could barely move her feet, she felt almost silly about her earlier anxiety. “I read this book when I was ten. Little Women?”

“I am familiar with it.”

“There was this part where the youngest sister is skating on a lake or a river —”

“A river,” Spock supplied.

Nyota nodded, smiling, her gaze still focused steadfastly in front of her. Of course he would know. “A river. And the ice breaks, and she falls into the water and nearly drowns.”

“I see.”

“The part of Kenya I’m from, our lakes and rivers don’t freeze. I mean, we have indoor ice rinks, but something about the possibility that the surface beneath you, that you thought was strong and solid, could just snap and fall away. That’s always stuck with me. Gaila got me to come here our first year. I never made it onto the ice. I never even got skates. I was so close to hyperventilating, she got me a hot chocolate and left me on one of the benches while she careened around the rink.”

“And yet when I expressed a desire to skate, you said yes.” His hand gently turned in hers so that he could entwine their fingers. The way her hand fit into his, so perfectly, like it had been made for her, set her whole body humming, a tingling heat that radiated from that single point of contact deep down into her core. “Had I appreciated,” he said when after a long minute, she hadn’t spoken, “your true level of apprehension, I would not have —”

“It’s okay,” she broke in, shaking her head and squeezing his fingers. “That’s why I joined Starfleet, right? To learn. To explore and do things I’ve never done before. To challenge my preconceptions and fears. And besides. You’re here.” Nyota didn’t finish the thought. That with him there, she’d felt secure, like nothing bad could happen. But from the tightness around his eyes, the cant of his head, he was clearly puzzled by her reasoning, and she changed the subject.

“So if you have family only an hour away, why aren’t you spending your break with them?”

Spock blinked. His lips parted and then clamped shut, and his forehead creased. “My presence over the break period is required on campus,” he finally said, his voice carefully neutral.

“Oh.”

It wasn’t really an answer. Not that she knew everything that was happening on campus during the brief winter recess, and far from every cadet and faculty or staff member at the Academy celebrated Christmas, but most at least took advantage of the downtime to return home, visit family, or at least leave campus. Still, headquarters was just across the bay from where the Academy sat on Baker Point, and Starfleet didn’t shut down just because the Academy, for all intents and purposes, did. For all she knew, Spock had an endless string of meetings, planning sessions, and whatever other commitments filled the days of commissioned officers scheduled between then and when the new semester started in January now that he was the new flagship’s chief Science Officer. And he was still a student himself, at least until the end of the academic year, and had his own studies and projects on top of prepping for the three classes he’d be teaching the following semester.

It was a situation with which Nyota could well identify given that she hadn’t seen her own family in nine months between school and her summer assignment covering leaves at the Columbia Mills sensor array on Mars. And if she did the ship rotation she planned starting the following June, it was probably going to be years before she saw her family at Christmas again. Maybe it was different for Vulcans with their telepathy and complicated family structure. Maybe he didn’t need to be with them to…be with them, even if they were human. Or maybe he was as isolated from them as she was from her family.

“Is that why we’re here? Because this is something you’d do with your family over the holidays?”

She looked up at Spock, waiting for him to respond, but he was staring at the entrance to the skating area just ahead of them where a jam up of skaters entering and leaving the ice was causing general chaos. A good thing, too, because a giggling Andorian toddler shot out from the middle of the crowd and scampered directly in front of them, closely pursued by her mother who wasn’t having any luck catching the little girl as she skipped and twirled across the ice on chubby, bright blue legs that were a thousand times more steady than Nyota’s felt. Spock skidded to a stop, turned and stretched his free arm out across her shoulders, pulling her up short. The sudden lack of momentum rocked her back onto her heels and would have sent her skates out from under her again if not for his support, and she grabbed onto the arm he still held across the front of her body.

“I think maybe you should teach me to stop next,” she gasped. When the little girl dashed out into their path, her earlier fear roared back to life and clutched at her stomach. But having made a full circuit around the rink, she found it was easier to calm and tuck away, and the thought of staying out there with him wasn’t nearly as intimidating as it had been only an hour before. “Do we have time left?”

“Thirty-five minutes,” he said. The corners of his mouth tugged upwards in what might have been a smile. “You are certain?”

“Absolutely.”

“It is not necessary. You have attained your stated goal, and I am willing to concede to your wishes.”

“I want to.” Her tone was firm and sure, and she knew the moment she said it that it was true. “I think I can even make it without leaning on you the entire time.”

Something dark and unfamiliar flashed in his eyes but was gone before she could name it. “As you wish.”

His hand fell away from where it cupped her shoulder and his fingers slid through hers. The last lingering brush of his roughened fingertips left her skin tingling and sent a prickle of heat racing down her spine. She pressed her palm against her thigh. Flexed her fingers into the fabric of her thick leggings just below the hem of her skirt to keep from reaching for him again. After all, he’d only been making sure she didn’t fall, right?

Spock stood solidly on the ice a few feet away from her, well out of the flow of skaters still milling around the rink entrance, his back straight, his expression a model of calm restraint. Nyota sighed. Whatever she’d seen in his eyes had passed.

All right, then. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. “Okay. Keep my weight off my heels. Bend my knees. Don’t look down. Push off with my foot at an angle, but not with too much force.” As she took her first unassisted two-footed glide towards Spock, a burst of laughter escaped her lips and rang above the noise of the other skaters around them. Her ankles hardly wobbled at all.


	2. Chapter 2

The benches outside the skating area were hard. Something that should have been apparent to Nyota given the total lack of padding on the flat, metal seats. But what hadn't been apparent was how much her tail bone would hurt after the inglorious plummet to the ice she'd taken a few minutes earlier.

Once she'd grown brave enough to skate on her own, she and Spock had circled the ice twice more. She'd negotiated the first time round without incident, but halfway through their second circuit, her legs had gotten tangled up together in the middle of a turn, and she'd ended up in an undignified heap right at Spock's feet.

His only reaction had been to bend down, take her hands, and pull her upright while she'd still been struggling to do more than push up onto her knees. Even once she'd been on her feet again, his hands had stayed locked around hers for a long minute, so much warmer after her scramble down on the cold, damp of the ice than they'd been earlier, and she'd nearly wrapped her arms around him right there in the middle of the rink. Luckily, a passing skater had zoomed through her peripheral vision from out of nowhere, and she'd staggered back a step to keep her balance, yanking her hands away before she could do anything to make herself feel even more foolish that she already did after her graceless spill.

Which had probably been for the best. Otherwise, she might have slipped her arms around his waist. Pressed her face into his chest. Inhaled that clean, dry scent that always clung to his clothes and maybe went all the way down to his skin right there in front of all those people. Immeasurably better than leaving her hands in his and having to worry the rest of the night about exactly how much of that impulse he'd been able to pick up through his fingertips.

When they'd finally reached the break in the railing, she'd been more than ready to be done. She'd all but collapsed onto the short bench in the locker area closest to where she and Spock had stored their shoes and coats so that she could take off her skates and pull her boots back on. Her backside had thudded dully against the bench top, and she'd sucked in her breath at the sharp, throbbing pain that flared across her seat. If her legs hadn't felt too weak and rubbery to support her on the narrow-bladed skates she'd still worn, she would have stood right back up. In the end, she'd wadded up her coat and perched on that so she could finally unlace the tight, white boots and drop them to the padded ground.

Spock, on the other hand, had changed into his street shoes quickly and disappeared with both their skates while she was still rubbing her aching feet and sore ankles and straightening out her socks.

That was something else that hadn't been apparent, how sore her ankles would be. She'd known when she'd agreed to go out on the ice that she could fall. Probably was going to fall at some point, but no one had mentioned what skating would do to her ankles. She groaned and rubbed at her foot one last time before slipping her boot on, sealing it up over her calf, and looking around for Spock, who hadn't returned yet.

As tall as he was, even with his distinctive cap of glossy, black hair and the up-swept tips of his ears hidden under the gray wool of his hat, Spock should have been easy to spot. The ease with which he carried himself and the quiet grace and dignity in his manner were usually beacons of calm in whatever chaos swirled around him. But the ice, which had been so crowded at its peak, had been cleared once the ninety-minute block of skating time was over, leaving only the automated ice resurfacer thing with the funny name circling the rink, and most of the skaters were crammed into the small changing area.

She scanned the crowd for him, but from her seated position, she couldn't see much. There were too many people milling about, and Spock was nowhere she could see in the rush of the departing skaters. Standing up was probably her best course of action. Nyota finished fastening her other boot and tugged on her coat. She pushed to her feet to get a better sightline, but the lingering quiver in her legs made her wobble at first. It was ironic that with all the running that was a part of her Starfleet training, she wasn't better prepared for stumbling around the ice, but she wasn't, and she clamped down on an aggrieved sigh and looked around again.

She was on the verge of climbing up onto the bench when a firm hand pressed into the small of her back and heat seeped through the layers of her clothes to pool at the base of her spine. She jerked away with a start and spun around. Standing in front of her, his coat neatly closed, was Spock, his unflappable composure firmly in place. He carried a disposable stasis cup, steam rising out of the drinking vent.

"My apologies," he said quietly. "I did not intend to startle you."

Nyota took a deep breath and ordered her heart to settle back into her chest from where it had lodged in her throat. She gestured in the direction she'd been facing when Spock had come up behind her. "I thought the skate return was that way."

"It is." He held the cup out to her, and she took it without thinking. "I brought you this."

The container was warm to the touch, and a scent that was deep and bitter and sweet all at once wafted up to her on a curling wisp of steam and tickled her nose. Nyota closed her eyes and inhaled. "Hot chocolate?"

"You stated a preference for the beverage earlier."

"Yes. Thank you." She smiled and took a tentative sip. "Nothing for you?"

"Not at this time. You are prepared to depart?"

"Mmmm." She swallowed and made a happy noise around the lip of the cup. "What's next on the list?"

"Our destination is only across the street."

Threading his way between the last stragglers leaving the skating area, Spock led Nyota through the dwindling crowd, past the long line of people waiting for the next session to begin, and towards the giant glass-walled department store directly across from the square. Nyota's gaze traveled up the front of the building to the huge, brightly lit Christmas tree that rested on top of the overhang that shielded the front entrance from the weather. It stretched up four stories, its great branches blocking the view of the floors inside. A shining star that could probably be seen for blocks, even with the rest of the city lit up, adorned the top peak.

"Wait." She reached out and caught at his sleeve. "Are we going there?"

"Yes." Spock's long, graceful strides consumed the pavement, and Nyota quickened her steps to keep up.

"We're not going to see Santa, are we?"

Without slowing, he peered at her out of the corner of his eye, one eyebrow lifted so high, it disappeared beneath the ribbing at the edge of his hat.

"No," he replied, and what Nyota was certain could have been a smile tugged at his lips. "How did you reach that conclusion?"

"Gaila makes me go with her every year."

"Your roommate is Orion, is she not?"

"Yeah, but she loves Christmas. She says any holiday based on rampant consumerism where the major traditions include kissing random people based on your proximity to a parasitic weed and sitting on a stranger's lap and telling them exactly what you want is something she can get behind."

Spock's brows drew together in the barest approximation of a frown. "Did you not explain the religious significance of the holiday?"

"I tried. And I tried to tell her how not every Terran culture celebrates Christmas in the same way, but between the kissing and the laps and the presents, she wasn't really interested. Anyway, we were here the day after Thanksgiving. She likes to shop around for the hot Santa."

"And by 'hot,' you mean…?"

"Physically attractive."

"Ah. I did not realize an appealing outward appearance was an important factor in Santa selection."

"Me either, but apparently it's vital."

"And the Santa at this establishment?" Spock asked, nodding towards the store.

"His 'ho, ho, ho' wasn't jolly enough."

"That is indeed a grave shortcoming," he intoned, and Nyota laughed at his studied solemnity.

They crossed the street and stopped in front of one of the store's large windows just at the lights were coming up on an elaborate scene inside: what looked like a sitting room or a study from the Victorian era, a towering Christmas tree the centerpiece of the miniature room.

Music, or at least what might have been music, trickled out of what was likely a full compliment of artfully concealed speakers, but Nyota could barely hear the vague tinkling over the buzz of the surrounding street. People still hurried in and out of stores. They rushed to parties or restaurants or shows or just home to their families, or like she and Spock were doing, they stopped and looked at the windows and other holiday decorations that decorated the area around the square.

A rail car rumbled behind them down one of the only remaining lines of the ancient cable-operated trolley system that used to be a vital means of safe transportation up and down the city's steep and treacherous streets before the advent of electric street cars and motor engines but now mainly existed to ferry tourists back and forth over the hill between Union Square and Fisherman's Wharf. The car was decorated for the season in lights, evergreen garland, and jingling bells, and the grip man clanged the trolley bell with merry enthusiasm for his full load of passengers as they trundled towards the turnaround at the end of the street. The tinny sound system didn't stand a chance. Even Nyota's sensitive ears couldn't pick out the tune despite it's nagging familiarity jangling just outside of her hearing range.

She looked over at Spock. He was watching the scene behind the window, his dark head tilted curiously to one side. Could he hear the music? His expression gave no indication, but Vulcan hearing was notoriously sharp. Given the number of whispered rhetorical questions he'd answered over the course of the seminar he'd led, questions never intended to reach his ears based on the looks on her classmates' faces, he was no exception. She was about to ask when he spoke again. "I find the practice wherein children solicit material possessions from a mythical figure in exchange for satisfactory behavior perplexing."

"So no holos with Santa for you?" Nyota sipped her hot chocolate, hiding her grin behind her cup.

"It is not an experience I wish to repeat." There it was again. That too-bland non-inflection of his that should have been impossible to parse for meaning but, in reality, was rich with it. Nyota shot him a quick, sidelong glance, half expecting to see him smiling down at her, but Spock was as calm and impassive as ever. The teasing light in his eyes was the only other clue that he wasn't completely serious.

"It's not something in Kenya, either. There is Santa, but he's more of a —" She broke off and blinked up at him. Did he just say…? "Wait. Repeat?"

"Yes."

"That would imply you've visited Santa at least once before," she said carefully.

"As I said."

Nyota gaped up at him. Her eyes grew wide, and her mouth slowly dropped open. "I would never have guessed."

"It was the request of my maternal grandmother," he said, simply. "My mother would not have otherwise subjected me to the experience."

She shut her mouth with an almost audible click.. "How old were you?"

"Three Terran years. My opinion with regards to the activity was not solicited."

"And you remember this." Nyota drank again, gripping the cup firmly between her hands, as much to give them something to do as to warm them.

"Clearly."

"So what happened?"

"Are you familiar with the legend of the _Kanlar Skilamu_?" he asked. His expression shifted so minutely, the change was almost indiscernible but for the shadow that fell across his eyes.

"The children's champion?" Nyota translated. "No."

"The _Kanlar Skilamu_ was a minor deity worshiped by the nomadic tribes that roamed the grassland of Kir Province thousands of years before the Reformation. According to legend, the spirit would appear in the guise of a wandering tinkerer and seek the hospitality of a caravan, offering his services as a metal worker and small items for trade in return.

"His stories of adventure in the far reaches of the province and his wondrous creations would beguile the children of the clan, and they would spend their unoccupied time congregating around his pavilion. In the morning, he would be gone, leaving no vestige of his presence. Save one. If he had determined during his sojourn that any of the tribe's children were being mistreated, he would imprison the miscreants at his fortress deep within the crater of Mount Tar'Hana."

"Okay," said Nyota uncertainly. Other than the connection with children, the legend didn't seem to have much in common with Santa Claus, but experience had taught her Spock didn't bring things up unnecessarily. "And?"

Spock's eyes flicked towards her and then back to the scene in the window. Little more than a glance, but enough for her to see the teasing reprimand for her impatience in the look he gave her. "And," he replied, "I overheard my father relate this history to my mother and maternal grandparents the night before the scheduled visit to Saint Nicholas. I had been put to bed with strict instructions to remain there and sleep." His fingers twitched restlessly, performing some unknown, invisible task, only stopping when he tucked his hands into his coat pockets."I did not comply."

"I always suspected you were a rebel."

"While my transgression was intentional, it was not an act of defiance," he countered. "I had been to Earth on prior occasions; however, I had no recollection of those journeys and was fascinated with the strangeness of my grandparents' residence. I was exploring the upper levels of the dwelling when I heard the adults speaking downstairs.

"My father did not tell stories as was my mother's practice, so I concealed myself so as to avoid discovery. At the time, it was merely a curiosity. I did not think of it again until the next day when my mother presented me to the actor portraying Saint Nicholas. My father had described the _Kanlar Skilamu_ as an old man in red robes with a great, white beard. "

"Oh, no."

"I became distressed. I believed that my having been out of bed in violation of my parents' wishes reflected poorly on their efficacy as authority figures and was certain the spirit had come to imprison them inside the volcano."

"Why would you think that?" said Nyota, shaking her head.

Spock hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and looking more uncomfortably human in that moment in his bulky coat, his hat covering the tips of his ears, than Nyota had ever seen him. "My logic was not yet fully developed."

She tried to picture the impeccable Vulcan officer she'd met at the beginning of the semester, the same man standing beside her, far more calm and composed than she ever felt, being anything other than staunchly rational at any age and failed. "I can't imagine you like that."

Something inside him seemed to unknot. His posture, still straight and upright, was no longer painfully so, and the warmth and light she'd so quickly grown accustomed to seeing crept back into his eyes, making her heart thump solidly against her sternum. "Logic and emotional control are not innate. While training begins at an early age, mastery is a lengthy process."

"At least I know you didn't cry." Nyota turned back towards the window and tried to catch her breath, something that was impossible with him looking at her like that, with her heart pounding the way it was.

The v-shaped furrow that sometimes marred the space between Spock's brows reappeared, but otherwise, his expression was as impassive as ever. "Vulcan children are often indistinguishable in their behaviors and reactions from the young of other species." Dropping his head closer to hers, his next words were whisper quiet. "Including humans."

Nyota snorted. Seeming to provide a response when what he'd actually done was sidestep her question. That was a well he went back to over and over again. Was that something he'd learned from his father, she wondered and edged over close enough to nudge him with her shoulder. "Oh, my god. You did. You cried."

"You are incorrect," he said, looking down at where her arm was pressed against his. Whatever scene was playing out behind the thick sheet of glass, Nyota didn't notice. The way his dark lashes fanned out over his cheeks and how the light that spilled over them from the window display glinted gold against his skin was far more engaging.

"Am I?" she asked, still a little breathless.

"Yes." His eyes traced slowly over the lines of her face, making the skin of her neck and arms tingle as surely as if his fingertips had followed the same path. "My reaction was somewhat more…combative."

"Combative?" Nyota puzzled over his choice of words, and then…. "Oh, no. You didn't."

"Did not what?"

"Hit Santa Claus."

"I did not. As the modern concept of Santa Claus in western Earth culture is a fictional amalgam of multiple mythical and historical figures, as well as an ancient deity associated with the Germanic pagan festival of Yule, that would have been impossible." Spock hesitated, his lips drawn tight for less than a heartbeat before his features smoothed again, and he tucked his hands behind his back and grew impossibly taller. "I struck the performer portraying Santa Claus."

Laughter bubbled up from inside her chest. "You did not."

"I assure you I did." He fixed her with the unwavering gaze that had discomfited so many of her classmates that semester. The one that even a few weeks before she would have been unable to meet for more than a few seconds before she remembered how engrossing the toes of her boots were. The little thrill that raced from deep in her belly straight down to her toes whenever she found him watching her was a more recent development and distracting in a way her boots had never been.

"I don't believe you."

"If you require confirmation, I have access to the holographic record of the event."

"You're joking." She smiled up at him before lifting her cup to her lips again and taking a long draught that she hoped looked more unstudied than it felt.

Slowly, Spock's mild expression changed. One corner of his mouth curled upwards as if it were entirely beyond his control but in all probability was purposeful and deliberate, and he leaned down to speak softly in her ear, his warm breath tickling against her skin. "I am Vulcan. I am not inclined towards humor."

He was so close, she could make out the flecks of gray and gold that gave his dark brown eyes so much depth, and for a second, they danced with not-quite suppressed mischief. It was probably just the light. Just the reflection from the display in the store window in front of them. It had to be. Still, her mouth went dry, and the heated blush that crept across her cheeks was, in all probability, plainly visible to Spock thanks to his species' superior vision.

Raising her cup to her lips and draining the last of the hot liquid in it, she struggled to find something else to say. "I don't believe that either," she finally blurted.

Spock didn't respond. He only took the empty cup from her hand and moved to deposited it in the recycling receptacle back on the corner.

"So, if we're not seeing Santa Claus, what are we doing here?" Nyota asked when Spock's firm, measured steps settled beside her again.

He nodded towards the scene on the other side of the glass. "Viewing the themed window displays traditionally deployed by retail establishments between mid-November and the final day of calendar year as a means to attract customers and increase sales revenue."

Of course that was what they were doing. Nyota laughed at herself for literally not seeing what was right in front of her. No one would have blamed her for missing it. No one would have ever predicted that the somber, staid, very Vulcan Starfleet officer she'd met only a few months before would bring her to look at Christmas decorations on their first date. Then again, it had never occurred to her that Spock would take her ice skating, either, but he had. A part of the human heritage that he'd so rarely mentioned before that day.

She glanced up, fully expecting to find him studying her with that unflappable calm that always made her want to smack him, but he wasn't. He was staring at the window, watching with the same determined intensity usually reserved for reviewing programming errors or studying complex data strings.

With one last look at Spock, she turned back to the display, really taking it in for the first time. The window was dimming to black again, the narrative loop restarting from the beginning. She couldn't see anything at all behind the glass, and she pulled closer and closer until she was only inches from the glass, her breath a fragile fog against the clear, cold surface. Without warning, golden words scrolled across the glass, sparkling and molten and so suddenly bright against the darkened background that if she closed her eyes, she'd still see their ghosts burned onto the backs of her lids.

" _During the long, long day of the twenty-fourth of December, the children were not permitted to enter the parlor, much less the magnificent showcase beyond that…When it had grown completely dark, the doors burst open, and a dazzling light erupted from the great chamber…Come, come, dear children, and see what Christmas has brought you!"_

The music Nyota had heard earlier resumed its anemic serenade from the unseen speakers. No louder or distinct than before, still too quiet for her to identify but hauntingly familiar. If she just focused a little harder, maybe closed her eyes. Except at that moment, the fiery letters faded, and the scene behind them began to glow.

The tree at the center of the display was a wonder. It was covered in meticulously detailed gold and silver apples that were no bigger than peas. Bead-like nuts and candies were so thickly hung, it was a miracle the slender branches didn't collapse. And the candles. What had to be more than a thousand dots of light, with their delicate, holographic flames that flickered like stars, made the tiny ornaments sparkle and glitter.

The doors on the side of the room burst open, and the holographic figures of a half dozen children swept inside and surrounded the tree. They were followed by twice as many adults, all dressed in the kind of elaborate period costumes Nyota had only seen in holovids and history texts. The children jumped and twirled as their parents tried to calm and control them, each movement graceful and stylized almost like a dance. Or exactly like a dance, she thought as the barely heard music and the scene before her locked together into a cohesive whole.

"The Nutcracker."

"Based upon the writings of Hoffmann. You are familiar with the piece?"

"When he was five, my little brother saw a production on the vid console. He went crazy for it." Nyota couldn't help but smile. Crazy might have been a bit of an understatement. Kamau had stood, rooted squarely in front of the screen for nearly half an hour without so much as twitching. An almost unprecedented period of inactivity for her little brother, who hadn't stopped moving since the day he was born. When their parents had finally pried him away from the screen and sent him off to bed, he'd careened off the walls trying to pirouette down the hall. "My mother says they had to put him in dance class to keep him from destroying the house."

Spock stepped up next to her. He studied the projections intently, as if looking for flaws in the programming. The subtle, clean scent of his soap, blended with the rich earthiness that always seemed to cling to him was so like the desert back home after the rain that she was momentarily struck speechless by the sudden ache that bloomed in her chest, and she looked back at the window.

The dancing had given way to the chaos of a child's game played around the tree. From there, it transitioned again. Brightly wrapped boxes and bags were ripped open, their contents excitedly displayed and shared. And then expectant waiting for…something, the whole charade playing out in time to the music that while still faint and of poor audio quality, she could at least follow now that she had identified what it was.

The lights in the display began to dim again. All except for a faint, growing glow centered over the grandfather clock in the corner. The scaled-down timepiece was like everything else in the diorama, perfect in its details, but whether it was real or a holograph, Nyota couldn't tell. At least not until the owl perched at the top of the clock came to life. It stretched and fluttered and preened just like a real bird and not a thing of gears and metal. Spreading its wings, the bird cast an ominous shadow across the display case, growing larger and larger until it spilled out onto the sidewalk, enveloping them both in darkness. Even the light trained on the clock faded. The window went black, and the lights that illuminated the sidewalk brightened.

Spock's gaze drifted away from the window to trace along the curve of her cheek and down over her jaw. The way his eyes moved over her was tangible in a way it shouldn't have been, and she shivered at the ghostly caress. He was waiting for her to continue her story with far more patience than she had given him. But before she could take the deep, steadying breath she needed to calm the excited jump in her chest, a high-pitched squeal sounded behind her, quickly followed by two more and the scuffling of tiny feet. Lots of them.

Nyota barely had time to step back before three little girls, no taller than her hip, rushed the window. They each wore tiny crowns with twinkling multi-colored lights and what could only be described as iceprincess dresses peeked incongruously out from under their undone bubble jackets. A harried looking man hurried up the sidewalk after them. He called for them to slow down and be careful, but the girls ignored him. Pressing their noses up against the darkened glass, they giggled and whispered, wriggling as joyously as puppies, and Nyota found herself unceremoniously crowded up against Spock when one of the girls bumped into her legs as she danced and squirmed.

At first, she tensed at the warm hand at the small of her back, but the memory of the ready way Spock had taken her hands back on the ice reassured her. Even though she'd given him no warning when she'd stepped into him seconds earlier, he wasn't moving away. Unobtrusive, but there if she needed support. It was as if he was looking for reasons to keep touching her. She was going to have to reevaluate her assumptions about Vulcans. About him. She didn't really know anything, did she?

Nyota let herself sink back into his hand, drawing out the moment his palm molded itself to the small of her back. He leaned into her, so that it would be the easiest thing in the world to tip her chin upwards and press a kiss against the side of his jaw. If she wanted.

Would his skin be as warm against her lips as it was against her hands? Was the stubble on his chin, something she'd never seen him with before, rough and scratchy or would it tickle? Or maybe he'd turn towards her and instead of the hard line of his jaw, her mouth would find his. And then without giving herself any more time to think. If they stayed curved into one another the way they were much longer, she'd do just that. Before she could give herself time to reconsider, she straightened and reached to hook her fingers into his and pulled him down the street to the next window.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kanlar Skilamu - Children's Champion
> 
> A/N: Finally. It seems like I've been working on this chapter forever even though it's been more like six weeks. Thank you for all the comments and kudos. I appreciate them more than I can express. So, this is about half done, but I'm going to be getting back to my other story for a bit. I'm totally energized and ready to get down to work. I hope everyone's year has been going well so far!

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! Just a short little fic for the holidays. Sorry it's late. I'm not a speedy writer, but according to the Gregorian calendar, Christmas isn't until next weekend, so that counts, right? Also, my planning sucks. This one's only three chapters, so the rest will be up soon.
> 
> Sorry I've been MIA for the past couple of months. Life got the better of me. For anyone reading my other fic, The Competition, I'll be updating that before the end of the month. 
> 
> I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday season and has a great ans shiny new year!


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